Alice in Zombieland

She glanced back at me, sighed. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “All right. I’ll talk to him.”

* * *

All through her performance, Em glowed. She also dominated that stage, kicking butt and not bothering with names. Honestly, she put the other girls to shame. And that wasn’t sibling pride talking. That was just plain fact.

She twirled and smiled and utterly dazzled, and everyone who watched her was as enraptured as I was. Surely. By the time the curtain closed two hours later, I was so happy for her I could have burst. And maybe I did burst the eardrums of the people in front of me. I think I clapped louder than anyone, and I definitely whistled shrilly enough to cause brain bleeds.

Those people would just have to deal. This was the best. Birthday. Ever. For once, the Bells had attended an event like a normal family.

Of course, my dad almost ruined everything by continually glancing at his wristwatch and turning to eye the back door as if he expected someone to volley in an H-bomb. So, by the time the crowd jumped up for a standing O, and despite my mad rush of happiness, he’d made me so tense my bones were practically vibrating.

Even still, I wasn’t going to utter a single word of complaint. Miracle of miracles, he’d come. And all right, okay, so the miracle had been heralded by a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and he’d had to be stuffed in the passenger seat of the car like the cream filling in a Twinkie, but whatever. He had come!

“We need to leave,” he said, already edging his way to the back door. At six-four, he was a tall man, and he loomed over everyone around him. “Grab Em and let’s go.”

Despite his shortcomings, despite how tired his self-medication had become, I loved him, and I knew he couldn’t help his paranoia. He’d tried legitimate medication with no luck. He’d tried therapy and gotten worse. He saw monsters no one else could see, and he refused to believe they weren’t actually there—or trying to eat him and kill all those he loved.

In a way, I even understood him. One night, about a year ago, Em had been crying about the injustice of missing yet another slumber party. I, in turn, had raged at our mother, and she had been so shocked by my atypical outburst that she’d explained what she called “the beginning of your father’s battle with evil.”

As a kid, my dad had witnessed the brutal murder of his own father. A murder that had happened at night, in a cemetery, while his father had been visiting Grandmother Alice’s grave. The event had traumatized my dad. So, yes, I got it.

Did that make me feel any better right now? No. He was an adult. Shouldn’t he handle his problems with wisdom and maturity? I mean, how many times had I heard, “Act like an adult, Alice.” Or, “Only a child would do something like that, Alice.”

My take on that? Practice what you preach, people. But what did I know? I wasn’t an ever-knowing adult; I was just expected to act like one. And, yeah. A real nice family tree I had. Murder and mayhem on every gnarled branch. Hardly seemed fair.

“Come on,” he snapped now.

My mom rushed to his side, all comfort and soothing pats. “Calm down, darling. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“We can’t stay here. We have to get home where it’s safe.”

“I’ll grab Em,” I said. The first flickers of guilt hit me, stinging my chest. Maybe I’d asked too much of him. And of my mom, who would have to peel him from the roof of the car when we finally pulled into our monster-proof garage. “Don’t worry.”

My skirt tangled around my legs as I shoved my way through the crowd and raced past the stage curtain. Little girls were everywhere, each of them wearing more makeup, ribbons and glitter than the few strippers I’d seen on TV. When I’d been innocently flipping channels. And accidentally stopped on stations I wasn’t supposed to watch. Moms and dads were hugging their daughters, praising them, handing them flowers, all about the congratulations on a job-well-done thing. Me, I had to grab my sister’s hand and beat feet, dragging her behind me.

“Dad?” she asked, sounding unsurprised.

I threw her a glance over my shoulder. She had paled, those golden eyes too old and knowledgeable for her angel face. “Yeah.”

“What’s the damage?”

“Nothing too bad. You’ll still be able to venture into public without shame.”

“Then I consider this a win.”

Me, too.

People swarmed and buzzed in the lobby like bees, half of them lingering, half of them working their way to the doors. That’s where I found my dad. He’d stopped at the glass, his gaze panning the parking lot. Halogens were placed throughout, lighting the way to our Tahoe, which my mom had parked illegally in the closest handicapped space for an easy in, easy out. His skin had taken on a grayish cast, and his hair now stood on end, as if he’d scrambled his fingers through the strands one too many times.

Mom was still trying to soothe him. Thank goodness she’d managed to disarm him before we’d left the house. Usually he carried guns, knives and throwing stars whenever he dared to venture out.

The moment I reached him, he turned and gripped me by the forearms, shaking me. “You see anything in the shadows, anything at all, you pick up your sister and run. Do you hear me? Pick her up and run back inside. Lock the doors, hide and call for help.” His eyes were an electric blue, wild, his pupils pulsing over his irises.

The guilt, well, it stopped flickering and kicked into a hard-core blaze. “I will,” I promised, and patted both of his hands. “Don’t worry about us. You taught me how to protect myself. Remember? I’ll keep Em safe. No matter what.”

“Okay,” he said, but he looked far from satisfied. “Okay, then.”

I’d spoken the truth. I didn’t know how many hours I’d logged in the backyard with him, learning how to stop an attacker. Sure, those lessons had been all about protecting my vital organs from becoming some mindless being’s dinner, but self-defense was self-defense, right?

Somehow my mom convinced him to release me and brave the terrifying outdoors. All the while people shot us weird looks that I tried to ignore. We walked together, as a family, our feet flying one in front of the other. Mom and Dad were in front, with me and Em a few steps behind them, holding hands as the crickets sang and provided us with an eerie soundtrack.

I glanced around, trying to see the world as my dad must. I saw a long stretch of black tar—camouflage? I saw a sea of cars—places to hide? I saw the forest beyond, rising from the hills—a breeding ground for nightmares?

Above, I saw the moon, high and full and beautifully transparent. Clouds still puffed through the sky, orange now and kind of creepy. And was that…surely not…but I blinked, slowed my pace. Yep. It was. The cloud shaped like a rabbit had followed me. Fancy that.

“Look at the clouds,” I said. “Notice anything cool?”

A pause, then, “A…rabbit?”

“Exactly. I saw him this morning. He must think we’re pretty awesome.”

“Because we are, duh.”

My dad realized we’d lagged behind, sprinted the distance between us, grabbed on to my wrist and jerked me faster…faster still…while I maintained my grip on Emma and jerked her along. I’d rather dislocate her shoulder than leave her behind, even for a second. Dad loved us, but part of me feared he’d drive off without us if he thought it necessary.

He opened the car door and practically tossed me in like a football. Emma was next, and we shared a moment of silent communication after we settled.

Fun times, I mouthed.

Happy birthday to you, she mouthed back.

The instant my dad was in the passenger seat he threw the locks. He was shaking too hard to buckle his belt, and finally gave up. “Don’t drive by the cemetery,” he told Mom, “but get us home as fast as you can.”

We’d avoided the cemetery on the way here, too—despite the daylight—adding unnecessary time to an already lengthy drive.

“I will. No worries.” The Tahoe roared to life, and Mom yanked the shifter into Reverse.